


forever is the sweetest con

by staarliings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Family Drama, First Love, Gen, Lost Love, Modern Westeros, Multi, Mutual Pining, Tragic Romance, Twincest (mentioned), virgin!Tyrion, yeah that's a tag you don't see every day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28200138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staarliings/pseuds/staarliings
Summary: and the tennis court was covered upwith some tent-like thing(it was the first time he tasted wine)and you asked me to dancebut i said, "dancing is a dangerous game"(it was the first time she held his hand)oh, i thoughtthis is gonna be one of those things(it was the first time he'd ever felt loved)now i knowi'm never gonna love again(there's a first time for everything)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Cersei Lannister (minor), Tyrion Lannister/Tysha
Comments: 11
Kudos: 11





	1. Tysha I

The first night he comes in, he orders a pot of coffee and nothing else.

_(He is addicted to coffee, he tells her later. She prefers tea with milk and sugar. He’ll switch to sweet wines after, and claim he can no longer stomach something so bitter.)_

It’s late on a week night. The rest of the lonely, broken hearts of Lannisport have gone home, except for her and the cook, who’s sneaking sips of dark beer while making lewd comments.

She watches as he slips into an empty booth and drops his books onto the table. He has quite a few of those, and a heavy book bag that he dumps onto the seat beside him with a sigh. It cracks the silence of the diner wide open, the sounds of him adjusting himself on the vinyl seat, books being opened and spread across the table, notebooks and pens arranged neatly around him.

She can tell it’s going to be a long night for the three of them. Cleaning a glass, she watches as he sets aside the menu on the table and gets to work. She saunters over to take his order, and he holds up a hand as he thumbs through a particularly thick volume.

“Coffee. Black. Leave the pot, please,” his voice is rough, and upon closer inspection, his clothes are wrinkled and his eyelids are dark and puffy.

“You sure?” she finds the words slipping out before she can think.

"Yes,” he replies, not bothering to make eye contact. He does not elaborate or explain, so she brings him his coffee and watches him from the counter.

He never evens looks up from his work as he sips from his mug. She knows it’s Tyrion, the youngest son of Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. She’s seen him on campus at Lannisport University, mostly with his older brother, Jaime and his twin, Cersei. She knows he’s a smartass, that he questions the professors constantly, that he reads late into the night, and that he cannot stand being watched.

He doesn’t seem to notice now, though. She doubts he even remembers seeing her on campus. The university is large, and teeming with students, so she’s not surprised he never saw the charity case with almost no friends. He, on the other hand, is always surrounded by friends, with their laughing faces and fancy cars and indifference to the world around them.

He always stood out, though. So much cleverer than the rest. And so sad when they weren’t watching him. At least, when he thought they weren’t watching him.

“You wanna fuck that dwarf?” she hears the cook murmur as she wipes down the counter. It makes her skin crawl and her temper flare.

“Fuck off,” she whispers as she hurries to put up empty chairs and wipe down tables.

She can’t help but watch him as she works. He’s hunched over his book, looking as if he’s desperate to engrave the words onto his brain. It is finals week, and she is panicking herself. Or she would be, if she wasn’t busy working to pay her tuition fees or keeping the peace in her dorm.

“I’m not bothering you two, am I?” a quiet voice breaks the silence.

She looks up to see Tyrion watching her, teeth clamped down on his bottom lip. He looks nervously to the back, where she’s sure the cook is lurking, and then to the empty tables now stacked with upended chairs.

Closing time was half an hour ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to kick him out, and the cook was too tipsy by now to notice. Before she can respond, he quickly begins to slam his books shut and pack his things away.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll… I- I’ll get out of your way.” He is so frantic and nervous that he knocks over the sugar container. When she moves to his side to help him, their hands brush and-

_(Later he’ll remember this moment with a rosy tone to it, that she smiled angelically and swooped in to save him. He’ll recall her floral perfume, her awkward laugh, her waitress uniform hugging her in all the right places. She’ll only remember how he smelled of old books and coffee. That smell will haunt her for months after. After the smell of blood and the bitter taste of metal.)_

“It’s ok, I’ve got this,” she murmurs as she cleans up the spilled sugar. “You should get some sleep. Professor Arryn will destroy you if you sleep through his exam.”

Tyrion pauses, struggling to maintain the books in his arms, and turns to look at her. His brow furrows as he tilts his head to one side.

“Are you a student?” he asks.

"Yeah it’s my first year,” she replies, sweeping sugar into her hand.

“What’s your name?”

"Tysha.”

He pauses, mulling over her name, as if reviewing it. It makes her nervous for some odd reason. “Tysha. That’s a nice name,” Tyrion looks at the door, then back to her. “I, uh, I should go.”

"I’ll walk with you!” Tysha blurts out before she can stop herself. Slipping off her apron, she tosses it in the cook’s stunned face. He doesn’t even move to grab it, and it falls to the floor as she grabs her coat from behind the counter.

“Close up for me, or I’ll tell the boss about the street-walkers you let eat for free,” she tosses this threat back at him as she ushers Tyrion out into the late night air.

The sudden rush of cold air gives her a chill up her spine, and she shrugs deeper into her coat.

"Where are you staying?” she asks, startling her walking companion from his thoughts. He points to the pub just up the road, the one with a set of flats residing above it. Chataya’s, the flickering sign says. It’s an old building, run down and neglected, and Tysha pulls a face.

"Really?” she follows with a bit more hesitation in her steps. A rich kid like him lived in a dump like that? What would his lord father think? Chataya’s known around town for it’s seedy customers and even seedier practices.

“I prefer keeping a low profile,” Tyrion replies, leading her up the back stairs to a door, where he shoves his key into the lock and budges the door open with his shoulder.

The inside isn’t much better than the outside, but at least it’s warmer. Tysha stands in the open doorway and shoves her hands in her pockets. It’s a small room, with a tiny kitchen area in the corner, with a sink full of dishes and beer bottles collecting dust on the counter. A twin bed with a red a gold blanket, dotted with roaring lions, is spread lazily across it. The sofa is also small, brown, and dips in the middle.

Tyrion turns in the middle of his humble abode, arms full of books and a face full of fear.

“Um, you don’t have to stay. Not that I’m kicking you out! It’s just… it’s late and y-you know, it’s finals week and I don’t want to keep you-“

Tysha shakes her head and holds her hands up. “I understand. I should head home before my roommates start to worry.”

Tyrion’s smile is small, shy, and does not linger on his lips. Setting his things down, he offers her his hand. After a moment, she takes it. He looks as if he might pull her in, kiss the back of her hand, but instead gives her a firm handshake before releasing her.

"Thank you for walking me home. And…please don’t tell anyone I live here. My father would have my head if he found out. I’m supposed to be at my brother’s place, but my sister is there too and she despises me and I have absolutely no idea why I am telling you all this.”

Tysha giggles, and Tyrion blushes. It is the sweetest thing she has ever seen. No man had ever blushed for her before. She wished she had a camera with her, or a better memory. Instead, she made a cross motion over her heart.

“Promise,” she replied. “Good night.”

"My name’s Tyrion, by the way!” he shouts as she goes to shut the door.

“I know,” her lips twitch like something of a smile before she shuts the door between them.

_(She’s always left shutting the door between them. It hurts more than she lets on.)_


	2. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the Lannisters, being Lannisters.

Tyrion doesn’t sleep a wink that night.

The second Tysha leaves his room, he drags his books and book bag to the desk in the corner of the room and gets back to work. He is not going risk failing in his first year. He is not going to disappoint his father again. Not this time.

He may be an imp, but he refuses to be a stupid one.  
The pot of coffee he downed at the diner is enough to make his hands shake as he pours over his notes, re-reads every passage, and scribbles down whatever he can. His back aches, and his hips protest every time he shifts his weight, but he refuses to rest.

_Jaime, he thinks bitterly, wouldn’t be this worried._

_('What’s the worry about? You’ll still be the smartest Lannister.’ The Jaime in Tyrion’s head laughs and runs his large hand through his wavy golden locks. ‘I’m only here because of the Kingsguard training.’ Tyrion would hate him if he wasn’t the only person who loved him.)_

Rubbing his eyes, Tyrion rests against the heels of his hands, his elbows sitting on the dusty old desk. His cheeks are still burning and that girl’s laughter is ringing in his ears. Why does he do this? Every single time, it always ends the same. He dreads the idea of seeing her again.

Right?

Tysha. Tysha, Tysha, Tysha. Her name plays like a broken record in his head as he rubs his hands over his face. Maybe if he just rested for a moment, he could collect his thoughts and-

“Rise and shine!” a booming voice shakes his from his dazed state.

Tyrion raises his head and squints in the dim light coming from the window. It takes him a moment before he realizes what had happened.

“Fuck, Jaime, what time is it?!” Tyrion nearly falls out of his chair and begins once again gathering his things together.

His brother, six feet of golden perfection, lounges against the open doorway and crosses his arms.  
“The sun has just come up. Relax, little brother. I have brought transport.”

Transport, as it turned out, is Jaime’s beautiful new motorcycle, courtesy of Lord Tywin’s money. Jaime loves all things fast and slick, and Tyrion…does not. But he also can’t afford to turn down a quick ride to the university when he is already running behind, so he dons the helmet he brother brought for him and climbs on behind his brother.

“Couldn’t you have just brought the car?” Tyrion asks.

“Why? This is more fun! Besides, I lent it out-”

“Father will kill you!” Tyrion feels his stomach drop. “Well, maybe not kill, you’re his favorite, but if he hears-”

“He won’t. Trust me. And hold on tight. Don’t need you flying off.”

Tyrion knows he is going to be in agony after this, but he grits his teeth and holds onto his brother for dear life as the machine beneath them roars to life. He keeps his eyes on the buildings whizzing by and tries not to panic.

_('Don’t be such a baby,’ he can see Cersei smirking at him in his mind’s eyes. Just like Jaime, she loves the thrill of riding the monstrosity all over Lannisport, her slender arms around Jaime’s waist. Tyrion wonders what they do on those long rides down to the Sunset Sea. He wonders why Jaime had to pick her over him.)_

Tyrion feels the motorcycle lurch to a stop, and when he looks around, they are at the campus. Jaime helps him off, and he rubs his legs.

Jaime hops off and takes him by the shoulders. “You’re going to do great. Just relax, try to avoid mouthing off to anyone, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Ok?”

Tyrion nods, and Jaime pats him on the back. Jaime isn’t one for consoling or advice giving, but he tries at least. Tyrion gives him the bravest smile he can muster before watching his brother speed off again, giving him a small wave as he did. Then, he turns to the tall buildings of the university and hustles his way inside.

His first exam is not the worst. Tyrion finds a seat in the back and ignores the usual stares as he works. The room is full of students, Tyrion even spots the Clegane brothers a few rows ahead of him, but nobody is chatting. The professor _(Ch’valatesh? Ch’valteesh? Tyrion can’t remember.)_ is pacing back and forth in front of the old blackboard.

It’s quiet, as usual, and it allows his mind to once again wander to the night before.

What is with that girl, the girl that is on campus at that moment, that keeps her trapped in his mind? Tyrion can’t stop picturing her smile, her lovely little laugh, the way she watched him as he poured over his notes.  
Tyrion can’t think of another girl who ever gave him that sort of attention. True, he is a lord, son of the most powerful man in the West, but he is still the creature that killed dear Lady Joanna. 

People whisper and watch, part like curtains wherever he goes. He recalls being a child, and wishing he could become invisible. He feels that even more as he goes about his day, examination after examination.

It’s now time for lunch, and Tyrion finds a nice spot under a tree where he can stretch out his legs and rest his eyes a bit. Students of all years mingle about, eating and chatting and chasing each other through the courtyards and open hallways. It is much louder out here, the air filled with voices and laughter. It makes his head ache.

“There you are, little imp,” the sickly sweet voice cuts through the noise and makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “I see you’re still living rough. Does father know yet?”

“He knows just as much about it as he does about your weekends with Jaime,” Tyrion replies, not bothering to open his eyes. “Good afternoon, sweet sister.”

He can feel Cersei bristling with anger, and when he opens one eye, he observes her tense stare, her crossed arms, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Two young girls hang back behind her, watching the pair of them with nervous eyes. Cersei didn’t have friends, she had servants who flocked behind her like sheep.

“What do you know of that? Have you been spying us, pervert?”

Tyrion pales and looks down at his hands, shakes his head. “I see you two all the time, riding around on that thing Jaime calls transport, and I-”

“You saw nothing! And if you even think of telling father-”

“I won’t.”

That satisfies Cersei. For now. With a toss of her golden locks, she’s gone again, linking arms with one of her followers. Jeyne Hetherspoon. Poor girl clung to Cersei after her younger sister drowned.

They look back at him, turn their heads inward, and giggle amongst themselves as they head back inside. Tyrion watches them leave and sighs, leaning against the trunk of the tree, and wishes the day was over.

He hears a scream.

_(Months later, he’ll wish he had just ignored it. Years later, he’ll wish something far worse.  
‘Oh, baby brother,’ Jaime haunts his thoughts, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Melara Hetherspoon a sister. Poor thing. Hopefully she doesn't have a thing for Jaime.
> 
> And leave it up to the Lannister children to live rent-free in each others' heads and keep secrets from their dad.


	3. Tysha II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attack and a rescue.
> 
> Warning: yes, this is "the attack", so skip this chapter if you need to.

It's almost funny how a boring day can become a nightmare if you aren’t paying attention.

Just that morning, Tysha was wondering how she would get through a full day of exams without falling asleep. She slept fine, but thoughts of her encounter with Tyrion Lannister refused to leave her.

Even now, as she blinks the boredom from her eyes and yawns, she thinks of him again. Why is beyond her. He’s a sweet boy, shy and introverted, but from the stories she’s heard he’s had his share of mischief. He’s the Lord of Casterly Rock’s imp. So why is he lingering in her thoughts?

Tysha shifts from one foot to the other, checking her watch for the fifth time in the last three minutes. Her friend Alyssa was supposed to be done with her exams ages ago, and now she is stuck in an empty part of campus missing out on lunch.

"Gods, Al, today of all days,” Tysha murmurs to herself. She briefly considers calling the whole meet-up off and heading back when she feels someone approach her.  
-She can’t see his face, but knows he is tall and somewhat under the influence, going by the lingering smell. Tysha glances to the side. She has never seen him before in her life. Or if she has, she wouldn’t recall his face. He certainly doesn’t seem like a student to her.

"Oi, miss. D’ya remember me?”

 _Oh gods,_ she thinks, her blood turning to ice. _Not now._

Tysha feels herself shake her head as she turns to leave, to flee, but a rough hand stops her and spins her back around. The stranger is tall and angry and in her face in a split second. She feels her stomach drop. Fuck.

"Nah, I think you do. You work at that diner, don’t ya?” he chuckles as he steps closer.

Tysha steps further away, glancing around. _Where is Alyssa?_ she thinks, _She should be here by now._

There is a hand on her waist, unwelcome and rough, and it pulls her close to his body. Unwanted. His mouth is so close to her ear, his hand wandering up her ribcage. His breath on her skin makes her want to vomit. And as much as she tries, as hard as she pushes, he refuses to release her.

"Please stop,” Tysha struggles against his grip as she protests.

"You looked so gorgeous that night. Didn’t I tell ya? I even drove you home. I think you owe me for that.”

"Please don’t, I’ve met a lot of people and I really need to-”

"Don’t play games with me, whore.”

_(Whore? She was a virgin when she met him.)_

The slap stings on Tysha’s cheek, but she finds her opportunity. With all her strength, Tysha gives him one huge shove, which surprises him and gives her a moment to bolt. She stumbles once, then twice, as she loses herself in the corridors of the university. A handful of students, too busy gossiping or fooling around, barely spare her a glance. She is just about to reach the courtyard when she feels a force jerk her back and slam her into the wall.

"I meant what I said, _whore_ ,” his hot breath is touched with liquor and it suffocates her. She struggles against his grip as he pins her to the bricks. “You owe me.”

Before she can think on it, Tysha feels a scream rip from her throat, the force burning her lungs. With her eyes squeezed shut, she feels the heat of the brick wall, the sickening puffs of breath on her face, and tears pricking her eyes, before a sudden burst of cold air makes her gasp.

"Are you ok?!” a voice at her ear asks, and a hand tugs at hers.

Tysha opens her eyes and finds Tyrion Lannister looking back at her, his eyes wide with fear. When she looks away, another man is pinning her attacker to the ground, locked in a struggle. She nods, her body numb, as she feels a strange hysteria bubbling up inside her.

There is another tug at her hand as she is led away from the scene, down a corridor to an empty classroom. Time moves so slow, it almost makes her dizzy with confusion. She falls into the nearest chair and grips the sides. She wants to laugh or cry or scream again. She wants to go home. She wants Alyssa.

"Tysha?” Tyrion’s voice snaps her back to reality. “Tysha, are you ok? Who was that guy?”

_(Whore. Whore. That’s the word he’ll use. He heard it once and that’s all he’ll think of when he pictures her.)_

"I-I-I don’t know,” she replies, her voice thin and quiet.  
As she struggles to get her breathing back to normal, Tysha looks at Tyrion. He stands a good distance away from her, his hand raised, palm facing her. It reminds her of one placating a snarling, wounded animal. His eyes are still full of fear and concern.

 _I barely know this boy,_ Tysha thinks. _What is he doing here? How did he find me?_

"I was waiting for a friend when he came out of nowhere,” the story is spilling from her mouth before she can stop herself. “I think he was drunk or something. He thought he knew me, kept grabbing at me until I ran for it. I don’t know what he wanted but if you hadn’t showed I don’t know what would have happened. There were all these people and he followed me and nobody said anything and I-”

Tysha chokes on her words as she feels the hysteria bubbling inside spill over, and she gives one sharp laugh, almost a sob, and then she is sobbing into her hands. Her shoulders shake as it all comes rushing at her, the shock leaving her system so fast it nearly knocks the wind out of her.

As she cries, she feels a comforting hand on her shoulder. It is a light touch, she thinks she must be hallucinating it. But when she looks up, Tyrion is standing next to her. Without thinking, she grabs him tight and holds him close to her.

_(Whore. Lying, cheating, stupid, silly whore. The word haunts them both for very different reasons.)_

He still smells of old books and coffee. Not the best combination, but it reminds her of home. Of safety. His hand timidly rubs her back as she feels a layer of peace overcome her, like a warm blanket on a chilly night.

“It’s ok now,” Tyrion soothes her with his low voice. “Jaime must have handled him by now. You’ll be ok. Do you want me to call someone for you?”

Jaime. Jaime Lannister. He was the one wrestling her attacker. The big handsome brother.

Tysha shakes her head, pulls away, and stands. “I have class. I should go.”

Tyrion looks confused. “Are you sure? We should get campus security. This needs to be reported.”

“Campus security doesn’t care.”

"I care.”

This time it is Tysha’s turn to look confused. It is another unfamiliar feeling for her, just as the sudden skip of her heartbeat was when she heard the sentiment cross his lips.

"You’d be the first.”

Something in Tyrion’s expression changes. Softens. He extends her his hand.

"Then may I escort you? Wait, shit, hang on…” He shrugs out of his jacket and hands it to her. It’s small, but the sleeves are long enough for her, and she when she slips it on she realizes her blouse was torn in the scuffle.

"Thank you,” she pulls the fabric tightly around her. It is very warm, and the scent of him lingers on it. “I have my exam on the histories of Westeros soon. Will you walk me there? It’s not far.”

Her request makes Tyrion beam, and he offers her his hand again.

"Of course,” Tyrion replies, gently squeezing her hand. “And I’ll stay until you’re finished. Luckily for you, my exams are done for the day. Unless you’d rather have someone else?”

Tysha shakes her head and says, “I’d feel a lot safer with you. I should message my friend, though. She must be worried.” How odd. They were but strangers two days before, and now she’s placing her safety his hands.

Quickly whipping out her phone, she sends Alyssa a quick text, then turns back to the young man holding her hand.

“Shall we?” his face is so boyish and soft, Tysha thinks she might cry again.

“Yes, please.”

She couldn’t have felt safer if she was surrounded by the Kingsguard recruits.

_(Later, she will never feel safe around the Kingsguard recruits. She will taste copper and smell blood and he will never forgive her, will he?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever! I wrote it and re-wrote and re-wrote and then scrapped it and started over. Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by thistleandthorn. Tell me if you like it!


End file.
